


I've Been Waiting For You (And You've Been Coming to Me)

by ghosttotheparty



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, POV Sander Driesen, do what you want with it, i just like sanders pov, i overuse commas, idk - Freeform, just kind of me rambling, kind of, takes place during the beach house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25746970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosttotheparty/pseuds/ghosttotheparty
Summary: I’ve been waiting for youAnd you've been coming to meFor such a long time nowFor such a long time nowFor such a long time nowFor such a long time now
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	I've Been Waiting For You (And You've Been Coming to Me)

_I’ve been waiting for you_  
_And you've been coming to me_  
_For such a long time now_  
_For such a long time now_

Sander knew it was ridiculous. 

That he had seen this boy, this beautiful boy, a total of two times before now.

Once, under the moonlight, white masks covering both their faces. The boy hadn’t seen Sander, nor his camera, under the roof of the warehouse, hadn’t noticed Sander watching him, Sander’s face hidden behind the mask and under the hood of his jacket, hidden by the camera when he held it up to snap a picture of him. 

There was a moment, as Sander watched him, where it felt like Sander’s heart slowed to a stop, where it felt like all the blood in his veins stopped moving, a chill went down his arms and back, where his lungs let out a sharp breath like a sigh and a gasp, where his face softened, and he forgot about everything except the boy in front of him. It felt like a realization, like a moment of familiarity, a feeling like he’s finally come home after years wandering the universe, looking. 

_Oh._  
_There you are._  
_You’re what I’ve been waiting for._

It hardly hurt when he watched the boy kiss Noor, the girl he knew from school, the girl that was friends with Sander’s girlfriend (who was far from his mind). It still disappointed him, still made his heart drop just a little, though the butterflies still fluttered like they were trying to escape him.

The next time, in the skate park, a group of teenage boys walking past. 

A whim, a wild hope, that maybe the boy with the pretty eyes and the brown hair, could be one of them, and Sander glanced up. 

And there he was. 

Looked at Sander.

And how beautiful he was. 

In the same jacket he wore the night Sander first saw him, with his fluffy hair around his head like a halo, looking lonely even with the boys he walked with. Sander had looked at him as he walked past, thinking that this could maybe be his last chance to see him, his last chance to look at this nameless boy, and he caught the boy glancing back at him. 

That was all it was.

Just a glance.

But it was all that was on Sander’s mind for days after. Days and days, rushing through his mind like a film, like a gif, like it was all that existed in his world, in his universe. He’d done messy sketches of it, but ended up erasing it so many times the paper ripped under the rubber, or he crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it to the bin in the corner of his room, or he ripped it up, the angles, the lashes, the shine in his eyes, just not right. 

Just a glance. 

But in the light, Sander caught the brown of his eyes, caught the shine of them against the sun, caught the curiosity that overtook the loneliness, just for that short second. 

And in that moment, Sander was okay.

He looked different in the sun than he did the moon. The light wasn’t as pale, though it was a cloudy day. 

There was a gentleness about him, a softness that Sander could only just see. A gentleness hidden behind the intense exterior of a disguise. It hurt Sander’s heart to see it, this disguise that the boy was hiding behind. The disguise was in the way he walked, his hand stuffed into his pockets, just a step behind his friends, in the way all three of them spoke as the boy glanced to Sander, the way none of them noticed the pained, sad look on his face. 

The look that might have disappeared when he looked at Sander.

For just a second. 

Like he felt it too. 

That was when Sander decided that was it. 

He would do whatever he had to. 

Go over any obstacle, break any locks, shatter any barrier, to get home. 

So he did. 

And he found himself in a beach house, surrounded by friends of Britt’s, friends of Noor’s, friends of his in a way, though he barely knew any of them.

Except, of course, the boy with the brown jacket. 

He’d had something planned to say to him, had something he wanted, needed, to say. 

He doesn’t remember what it was. 

It was probably something flirty, something bold, something that would have caught him off guard, that would have made him smile. 

But he forgot everything he was supposed to say when he showed up, when he and Sander made eye contact through the window, just a few seconds between the moment and when he walked through the door, a few seconds for Sander to try to calm his heart down, to make something up, to have a script in his head so he didn’t just stare blankly at him, awestruck and starry-eyed. 

So he talked. 

And it did manage to make him smile, a crooked, confused smile, a quiet “Huh?” that made Sander burst out laughing. 

His _voice._

It fit him. 

A quiet, low voice that matched his eyes, that made Sander’s heart fill with butterflies. He did his best to hide it, to disguise how shaken he was, to pretend he was fine, to be casual and friendly, like every cell in his body wasn’t screaming _finally._

“Sander, by the way.”

“Robbe.” 

Robbe. 

Robbe. Robbe. Robbe. 

It was like the name was stuck in Sander’s head, like a song he didn’t know all the lyrics to, an unfinished melody, and he had to make sure not to say it, not to let it out as he made conversation with the boy, _Robbe_ , on their way to get groceries. 

He had to make sure not to let his hands shake as he grabbed food from the shelves, as he made Robbe laugh with his mime impression. 

And he hoped, he prayed, his face wasn’t flushed bright pink as he talked to him, and he twirled him around on the shopping cart, as he looked into his eyes, and as Robbe looked back like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

If he’s completely honest, Sander forgot about Britt. 

She didn’t exist in those moments, the moments where Sander was with Robbe, in the kitchen as Sander told him about his masterful croques, the moment where Robbe kneeled to the ground to get a pan and looked up at Sander, twirling the pan in his hand, a small smile in his eyes like he was proud, the moment where they turned the stove on together, Sander’s curled fingers pressed against the side of Robbe’s hand, and they both looked at each other, smiling just because. (Robbe’s smile was beautiful. It put sunsets and fields of flowers to shame. Robbe’s smile lived rent-free in Sander’s head.)

And then the moment where Sander moved past Robbe to turn up the radio, pressed his hands to his back even though he had plenty of space to get around him, let one hand trail across his back, taking up every fraction of a second he could. 

Robbe smiled when Sander sang, when he moved his fingers in time with the music, when he acted like the dork he was, he didn’t roll his eyes, didn’t complain about “Bowie again?” He even swayed his shoulders, grinning at Sander, like he was dancing but wasn’t meaning to. 

Robbe didn’t say much. 

But he didn’t really have to. 

Sander knew he felt it too. 

He could feel Robbe’s eyes on him, as he sang and talked, felt Robbe’s eyes on him as he slid his tongue along the edge of the paper of the joint, and he tried not to let his self-consciousness show, even though it felt like his body could have exploded had he let it. He tried to hold himself upright, tried to look confident and secure, pretended he wasn’t screaming inside.

It was finally happening, he thought as he took a drag from the joint, as he smiled at Robbe. It all felt so natural, all felt so real. He knew it was silly, to be this head over heels for a boy he’d only met that morning, but he couldn’t help it. 

He couldn’t help the way he looked at Robbe, the way his eyes softened and smiled even though he was trying to act normal. He couldn’t help the way his heart sang as he held the sandwich up and Robbe took a tentative bite, the way he had to stop himself from giggling like a little girl when Robbe looked at him blankly as he chewed, like his mind was blank, like he was feeling exactly what Sander was feeling. He couldn’t help the way he wanted to just gaze at him for days, the way he wanted to curl his fingers into Robbe’s hair, wanted to kiss him until they were both breathless (even though Sander already felt a little breathless just seeing him). 

He couldn’t help the way he startled when he heard Britt’s voice, the way he really just wanted to close the door in her face, to take Robbe and hide from her where she couldn’t find them, to forget about Britt completely. It wouldn’t hurt. 

He tried telling Robbe, after Britt had kissed him, tried to tell him _Don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine. This isn’t really real._ He could see it in Robbe’s eyes, could see the slightest bit of anguish, of disappointment, of pleading, even through his small, pained smile as Britt spoke to him. Sander apologised to him, looking at him with Britt’s cheek pressed to his. 

The truth was, nothing Britt did, none of the touches, the kisses, ever felt even remotely close to what he felt when he shook Robbe’s hand, when their hands touched on the stove, when their fingers brushed as Sander passed him the joint. Nothing Britt did made Sander feel so electrified, made him feel like he was where he was supposed to be. Nothing she did made Sander feel so beautifully wrecked, so perfectly ruined. 

Britt showed him something after they left Robbe in the kitchen. 

Sander doesn’t remember what it was. 

His head was too distracted, too consumed by the memory of Robbe’s smile, his eyes, the way his hand felt against Sander’s. 

He felt at peace for the first time in a very long time. Like the planet was rotating again after years of standing stationary. He felt okay. 

This is what he’d been waiting for all his life, what he’d been looking for. 

This is where he was supposed to be, with this beautiful boy with his brown eyes.

Someday, he thought, he would kiss him. He would hold the side of his face, would brush his fingers over his jaw and cheek, over the side and back of his neck, before sliding them into his hair, where he would tighten his grip, would clench his fists in the soft curls, would pull and tug as Robbe slides his arms around Sander’s waist. He would probably smile against his mouth, might have to pause, pull his head back, their foreheads pressed together, just to smile, his eyes closed, feeling Robbe close. How blissful that would be. 

Someday, he thought, he would draw him. _Really_ draw him, with his face, and his eyes, and his smile lines, and the curls that fall across his forehead, not like the drawings he did of him with the while mask covering his face, not like the drawings he did that were just colour and shapes, just brushstrokes against paper, colours and shapes that he didn’t think through, colours and shapes that just felt right.

He knew no one else would look at them and think of them as portraits. 

But they weren’t for anyone else.

And he did kind of like the idea of the art being his little secret. Paintings of his love. 

He knew it was ridiculous. 

But even so, it just felt right, it felt okay, it felt _real_.

_For such a long time now_  
_For such a long time now_


End file.
